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Subject: {ASSM} Undercover (Part 12) By Katzmarek (MF, Mf, Rom)
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<1st attachment, "Undercover 12.doc" begin>
Undercover 12
By Katzmarek
Part 12
Vili found the big city an exciting place to live. Her home
village had no power, running water and all her family lived in
one big room.
The 'fale,' of course, was well adapted to the tropical island
climate. It was open on all sides to allow the sea breezes
through, with grass mats that could be lowered if the wind became
too strong. It was the traditional island way.
'What did they need of refrigerators anyhow?' There was fruit in
the trees, fish in the sea and wild pigs roaming the bush.
It was a simple life in Tonga, inside the nest of her large
extended family.
But at 13 she had been given the chance of seeing the wide world.
The village elders, her father, uncles, pastor and the village
'Matai' had given her their blessing to become part of the
Sponsored Education Project.
A man came to the village and introduced the scheme to the
village council. He said some generous people were providing the
money so their children can be sent overseas for a 'proper'
education.
Not that the islands lacked schools. The churches ran them and
there was even a high school. But the education was different,
overseas. Girls and boys were taught the same things and there
was a chance for the good scholars to go on to University.
Vili didn't want to just learn the things that would make her a
good housewife. She wanted to see the world beyond the islands, a
strange, exciting world of cars, television, telephones and a
room of her own.
At first the sheer size of everything and the number of people
intimidated her. But young people adapt pretty fast and soon,
with the help of her sponsor family, and the support she received
from her Private School and the Tongan community, she felt at
home.
Mr. and Mrs. Rufus, her sponsors, were kind and generous and Mr.
Rufus gave her many presents. She was able to buy enough clothes
and things so she was dressed just like her 'Palagi' peers. Mr.
Rufus gave her an allowance every week that she used to buy the
latest CD's, make-up, magazines, pretty much anything she
wanted.
Sometimes Mr. Rufus gave her extra money as a present. This was
for being a 'good girl' and letting him touch her or watch as she
changed her clothes.
She was no stranger to the 'interest' men and boys had in girls.
Back home the boys used to try and spy on the girls bathing in
the stream, it was an old game. Indeed, many of the girls used to
do the same and spy on the boys.
At 12, she'd let a boy who 'liked' her, see her 'kitty' and in
return he'd shown her his 'peewee.' In the carefree islands it
was just innocent fun.
She knew about sex, too. What island child had not peeked around
the grass curtain at their parents after hearing 'unusual' noises
late at night? But for her, for all the island girls, the pastor
had told them to wait until they were married and the pastor was
close to God.
Mr. Rufus had confused her at first. Hadn't he a wife to do such
things for him? She decided it must be some 'Palagi' thing and
besides, she liked the extra money.
Jim Rufus was angry with Gray Treadwell. He had done a 'bunk' on
him just as the cops were starting to ask some questions and now
it was HE that had to come up with the explanations.
'Flesh trading? Unthinkable! They were sponsoring an education
project so the island girls could get an education; that's all.
Red Ray? Merely a holding company. No Asian syndicates,
prostitution, drugs or racketeering. Everything was above
board.'
He hoped this Sperle was satisfied, he really didn't want the
cops crawling over his business affairs. Hell! Who HADN'T cheated
on their tax a little?
Jim Rufus had just turned fifty. His hair was greying and he was
carrying a little too much weight. On the plus side, he was now
reasonably well to do and could afford a nice car, expensive
suits, country club membership and commanded considerable respect
throughout the business community.
But Vili was turning out to be his weakness, so innocent and
obliging with a developing young body and a shy smile.
He remembered the first time she'd brought home some new clothes.
She'd got so excited that she'd changed right in front of him.
He'd got an erection so hard it was painful as she innocently
peeled down to her underwear.
Her brown skin was so smooth, he wanted to smear himself over
those flared hips and round bottom. Her nipples raised little
bumps through the cups of her bra. He wanted to touch them, lick
them and ease those beauties out of their confines.
Later, beating himself off, he knew he was becoming obsessed with
her.
Gray sat beside Misha, his pilot, in the cockpit of the Mi 8
helicopter. Lacking a crewman meant he had to haul the supplies
to the dacha himself and he wasn't looking forward to the
exercise. Ahead was the snow covered rising ground that heralded
the approach to the little lake.
The helicopter skimmed low over the trees, sending upward
flurries of snow from the down wash. Misha circled the flat area,
about 100 metres from the cabin, which was the landing zone.
Checking the area for obstacles that might snag a rotor or damage
the landing skis, he brought it to the ground.
Together they hauled the supplies out of the chopper, but Misha
was anxious to be off, so Gray was left to his own devices.
It was understandable because, at this time of year, the weather
in Siberia can change dramatically and the pilot didn't want to
be caught on the ground during a snap blizzard. A drift could
build up over the craft in half an hour, requiring hours of
digging out.
Gray crouched to the ground as the Mil's rotor kicked up its own
little blizzard as it took off again.
As the 'chukka-chukka' died away, the tundra fell silent except
for the whistle of the wind. Gray began to haul the supplies to
the dacha.
The Russian embassy was perched high in the hills behind the city
centre. It had changed little from the Soviet era except for the
crest on the gate. As Jess got off the bus outside, she glanced
at the houses across the street. The same houses that, no doubt,
used to house members of the Security Intelligence Service and
their spy gadgets.
Jess had obtained her passport relatively quickly but she knew
her visa would require considerably longer to process.
Instead of ringing a bell and announcing herself to a speaker,
the gate was open and she was free to walk into the public
reception area. Russia was no longer suspicious of this pacific
country.
The woman at reception was quite happy to chat, once the
formalities of her application had been completed. Jess told her
that she was going to surprise her fiance on holiday in Siberia
for a romantic stay in a remote cabin. The woman became quite
excited by the story.
Yes, she remembered Gray Treadwell and wasn't he a 'catch,' she
gushed. She even printed out a copy of his visa application, even
though she wasn't supposed to.
It was dated two months ago. Under 'reasons for travel,' was,
'recreation, I will be staying in a lakeside dacha for three
weeks.' The location was stated as '60km SSE of the Tunguska
River.'
'A good start,' Jess said to herself as she left.
In Nuku'alofa, Tonga, Warren Hastings held the A4 sheet up to the
light. It was obvious to him the font on some of the entries was
different. It was obvious, also, that what he got from the Palace
Guard were colour photocopies of the accounts of the Tonga Weekly
Revue.
In fact, the Palace Guard had been altogether too damned evasive
all round.
The suspect entries record regular payments of $12,000 to a Mr.
Chen. $12,000 was a significant payment for a newspaper with a
circulation of perhaps 10,000 people.
Warren immediately surmised the entries had been faked. Repeated
requests to the Palace failed to produce the originals so the
detective had to report to his boss that the evidence was at best
'unsafe.'
"My guess is A'oka's being set up," he told his chief, " and not
very expertly."
"Everyone seems to be setting up everyone else," Sperle told
him.
Warren," the DS continued, " how do you like the idea of our pal
Swinbourne, the human rights lawyer, wading into the fray. Call
it an unholy alliance, but I rather thought he might shake a few
trees for us."
"How would he intervene?"
"Why, your friend Moses A'oka needs a lawyer doesn't he? To be
honest I'd rather have that pain in the arse over there than
here, getting in my way."
"Is he keen?"
"Is he what! There's quite a storm brewing here about press
freedom and the repression of human rights in Tonga. He can
hardly restrain himself."
"By all means, let's rattle a few cages."
"I'll call him straight away," Sperle said, ringing off.
Jim Rufus picked Vili up from school like he often did. Also like
he often did, his hand stretched across to rest on Vili's leg.
Vili was used to this little performance by now. She was grateful
he was some ways down the road and out of view from her school
friends.
She parted her legs a little and moved her right towards Mr.
Rufus's hand. Looking out the window, she felt his hand slowly
stroking her, moving steadily up her blue regulation tights
towards her short skirt.
At the junction of her legs, his hand would rest, Mr. Rufus
removing it only if he needed it for driving. Having negotiated
the corner, or whatever, it would return.
Vili sat in the car as if completely oblivious to the invading
hand. Even when his index finger was pressed against her mound,
she simply ignored it.
When they got home, Mr. Rufus watched her as she changed out of
her school clothes. He sat in her dresser chair while she peeled
off her uniform, sometimes pressing himself between his legs with
his hand.
Vili simply pretended he was not there.
One afternoon Mr. Rufus had asked her to come closer then reached
out his hand and stroked her bottom. Slowly that initiated a new
dimension to their activities.
The young teenager trembled at his touch. He'd spend some time
now running his hands over her body, over the exposed portion of
her skin. Silently she accepted his touch, she didn't want to
offend him by shrugging him off.
Two weeks later Jess had everything ready. In the folder she
received from the travel agent the flight plan was to be; Qantas,
Auckland to Tokyo, Japan Airlines to Beijing, China Airlines to
Ulan Bator, Aeroflot to Irkutsk.
The schedule intimidated her, she had never traveled so far in
her life. Nearly 30 hours of flight time spread over four days
and all on her own.
The Travel Company had warned her about the reliability of
flights in that region, in the tail end of winter. Airports can
close for weeks on end through bad weather.
Everyone had advice for her. Sperle gave her some points about
searching for someone who didn't want to be found. Chris told her
to enjoy herself, Jerry told her to keep away from the 'Ivans'
because they were all horny.
The police psychologist suggested Gray probably had a
'personality disorder.' Jess thought the psychologist probably
was an idiot.
By Ulan Bator, Mongolia, Jess'd had enough of travel. The novelty
had worn off the longer she was in the air.
The China Air Airbus had just made it into Ulan Bator before the
weather closed the airport. She flopped into one of the terminal
chairs and promptly went to sleep.
The same weather had delayed Gray's weekly supply drop. He had
tried venturing outside but the blizzard had driven him indoors.
At least he had a good supply of fuel left for the Diesel stove.
The Russians had thoughtfully stored a few extra drums in the
store shed.
It was, however, a labourious business topping up the stove's
tank. It perched on an angle-iron frame nestled against the back
of the dacha. To refuel you had to run a hose from the shed into
the tank and crank the stuff in with a hand pump.
In the cold, the Diesel oil became very sluggish and required a
lot of muscle to force it through the canvas hosepipe.
When going well, the stove provided all the heat anyone could
ever wish for.
On the other side of the world, Moses A'oka was collecting his
bundle of possessions from the front desk at the Police station.
Mamaku, the police chief, stood with arms folded, glaring at him
in the fashion only Polynesians have.
"You check everything then sign," he told him in Tongan, "you
don't go around telling folks I stole from you, ok?"
"What are you scared of, Chief? He replied, " afraid of a little
telling off from the palace."
"You show respect for His Majesty," Mamaku roared, "if it was up
to me I would have you chained up with the dogs."
"You just don't get it, Mamaku. You boss is too busy stuffing his
face to see what's under his nose."
The police chief raised his hand as if to lash at Moses but
restrained himself, bristling with anger and stuck for words.
"The Kingdom is been stolen from under our feet and sold off to
foreigners, hell! Even your kids are being sold overseas. Don't
you realise what's going on?"
"YOU steal..." Mamaku blustered.
"Steal what, Mamaku? The Palace fabricated all kinds of
'evidence' because I was telling the truth about them. One letter
to the Chief Justice from my lawyer and poof! Nothing... no
'evidence' no charges. And now there will be no trial and no
cross examination by sharp lawyers."
"You have always been troublemakers, you A'okas. I think you want
to be Kings yourselves. That's what this is all about."
Mamaku shoved him rudely out the door.
Meanwhile, outside Jerry Hanlon's garage a red, late model
Chevrolet pulled up. Three men got out, all wearing dark glasses,
looking like the cast of 'Men in Black.' Sliding open the door to
the garage, two went inside while the other hovered outside.
"Jerry? Is that you? The shorter man called.
Extricating himself from an under a bonnet, Jerry looked up in
surprise.
"Silvio, Hell!"
Indicating towards the two other men, Jerry exclaimed,
"What are you doing bringing your boys this side of the river?"
"They're being respectful," Silvio replied, "they're not wearing
any colours."
"Bloody incognito all right! You just park a red Chevy outside
and that guy has a Mongrel Tat on his cheek," Jerry said
indicating one of the men. " Are you looking to kill my trade?"
"Calm down... I just wanted to have a little chat."
"The last time I chatted to you I wound up in maximum security
for 8 years."
"Hey! Don't blame me for that. You were a contractor, you
accepted your own risks."
"You threw me to the cops to save your own arses."
"A business decision, Jerry... Look I didn't come here to talk
over old times..."
"Good! Leave the door open on your way out, I need to get rid of
the smell."
"Have you heard from you pal Gray?" Silvio asked, ignoring the
comment.
"Why do you want to know?"
"I hear he's been a naughty boy... Got into a bit of trouble."
"So? Have you been misdirecting your packages again, Silvio?"
"Oh that! Sorry I used your address. We just had to check for
canaries."
"$600,000 is a lot of investment to go on a rat hunt, Silvio. It
must be a big rat."
"It was, Jerry, a very big rat."
"And you think that Gray tipped off the cops? If so then what are
they after him for?"
"Smoke screen... Look, no one knows the Pacific like your pal.
Ever since 'Red' parked himself in the islands we keep getting
fucked up out there. We bring in some bait and what do you know?
The cops are waiting for it."
"Silvio... I'm getting a 'road to Damascus.'"
"What the fuck are you talking about? I could never understand
what you say"
"A revelation... it tells me Black Dot is screwing around with
Gray's life."
"He screwed with us..."
"And you want to hit him? Where the fuck do you think you are,
Miami? You strut around like some Colombian firm but you're
playing for chicken shit, Silvio. If I see your boys over here
again, I tell the Black's council your trying to shake medown."
"Don't threaten me..." Silvio said advancing on Jerry. All of a
sudden, daylight flooded into the garage as the doors were thrown
back. A line of gang soldiers stood silhouetted.
"You lost your way, dog shit?" one of the soldiers asked.
"Private business," Silvio replied walking slowly towards them,
hands outstretched to prove he had no weapon.
"You need Dog soldiers for your private business? Hey Jerry! I
don't like your clients."
"Me neither... they were just leaving."
The two Mongrel gangsters glared at the Black Power 'cavalry'
menacingly as they made to leave.
"Keep in touch, Jerry?" Silvio said, nonchalantly, as he slipped
through the line of men.
"I send you a Christmas card."
The Chevy roared down the street sending up a cloud of blue smoke
from the rear tyres. George Tamahere, the Black's 'President'
lingered behind as everyone else left.
"What's going down, Jerry," he asked.
Later that afternoon, Jerry waited for Chris in the police
station's watch house. Chris appeared through the staff door, a
look of concern on her face.
"What's the matter, Jerry? They said you wanted to see me
urgently."
"Can we go for a stroll?" he said, " this place gives me the
creeps."
They sat in a little park down the road, out of public view.
"Chris," Jerry said, sucking in his breath, " where is Jess
now?"
"Ulan Bator, Mongolia, I heard, waiting for clear weather,why?"
Jerry looked around him, then said in a low voice,
"Black Dot have a contract out on him."
"What? Who? Why, Jerry?"
"They think he's been messing with their business... that whole
drug shipment was organised by them. They think he's a police
mole."
Jerry explained what had happened earlier at the garage.
"They're pretty desperate to bring Mongrel soldiers over the
river," he explained.
"I didn't know Black Dot were still in business," Chris said, "I
thought they'd been cleaned up."
"Nah, they just got smaller. Other dudes took over from the
seniors when they were busted, or ran. They use Mongrel muscle
these days. You've got to get a message to Gray to stay put. Tell
Sperle if you have to. If this goes down there'll be fucking
warfare, tell him that!"
"I will! Jerry... how can we stop it?"
"The only way I can see is to prove Gray was not informing for
the police. He wasn't was he?"
"If he was they're keeping it very quiet, even from Sperle. He's
still convinced Gray's involved in something criminal."
"Maybe he's doing both... I dunno. Or maybe he just accidentally
stepped in something. It happens, Y'know, dude's minding his own
business and then someone puts two and two together and comes up
with the square root of infinity."
"Shit, Jerry, what a mess."
Chris lay her head on Jerry's shoulder to be comforted by his arm
around her.
"So, you're telling me that Black Dot have a contract out on
Treadwell?" Sperle was telling Chris later, in his office, "that
they think he's an informer? That the drug shipment was bait? Are
you telling me that they'd blow 600 grand just to entrap him?
Does that sound credible, Constable?"
"I don't know, sir. I'm just reporting the information, what you
do with it is up to you."
"Don't get cocky... Hmm so Silvio Kosmadakis is frightened enough
to risk bringing his muscle over the river. Now THAT'S
interesting. Hmm, if they want to take him out, why tell Hanlon?
It doesn't make sense, unless they want him to make contact with
Gray. Do you know what I think?" Sperle suddenly asked Chris, "I
think they want him out of the way, to stay hidden. For some
reason they don't want him back in the country. I don't think
they're going to risk gang warfare by murdering him, that's just
silly."
"You think so, sir?"
"I think so. If Dayshe can bring him to civilisation, we can
provide some protection for him, providing he'll co-operate. If
you can reach her, tell them not to talk to strangers, just in
case. I'll ask our gang-watch people to keep an eye on the
Mongrels, too."
"Yes sir."
In Siberia the day was dawning crystal clear. An antique
Illyushin airliner sat on the tarmac at Ulan Bator winding up its
engines. Jess gathered up her hand luggage and headed for the
counter.
At the home of James Rufus, accountant, Jim was tapping lightly
on the door of Vili's bedroom. When he received no response, he
silently opened the door and crept in. Kneeling by the side of
the bed containing the sleeping Tongan teenage girl, he thought
for a moment before gently easing the covers from over her young
body.
Her eyes flicked open and she looked up, startled. Putting a
finger to her lips, James Rufus shushed her.
"It's me," he whispered to her.
Pulling down the covers, the accountant silently eased himself
into her bed. Wordlessly, Vili moved over to accommodate him.
Chapter 13 follows
Katzmarek
<1st attachment end>
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